Letter to some pretty neat male human beings

Today I'm putting aside my casual hatred of men to make a post about the ones I appreciate. I'm thankful for the dudes who make my life a little bit cooler:

• To the large dude on my bus who wears powder pink high tops;
• To the guys in the coffee shop who switch up their indie playlists for the occasional ABBA, which makes Monday mornings a little bit easier to stomach;
• To the businessman in front of me in line, who grooved to "Dancing Queen" without any hint of embarrassment;
• To the Rolling Stones and the Beatles, reasons obvious;
• To my PI, a man who is so good at being a boss that I somehow never have any complaints (about him);
• To my dad;
• To my awesome boyfriend, who not only puts up with my neuroses but sometimes claims to like them;
• To the men (and women, too) who have invented and improved modern plumbing so that I can take hot showers and use indoor toilets.

Props to you, dudes. Props.


Enjoy that. It's all you'll get from me until men learn what it's like to menstruate.

Quickie

A friend and former coworker in the depressing world of holiday retail recently sent me a link to the following comment because of its obvious relation to my recent diatribes about the marginalization and communal fear of weirdness in society:

not an insult

and I think it's awesome and better than any vile insultry I could possibly spew about discrimination against the odd and unusual on this blog, so I'm sharing it with you now as a lazy but entertaining substitute for my own writing.

I have lately been inundated with science and read-a-thons (not too late to donate!) and angst and exercise, embattled with addictions to coffee and sleep, and so busy being disenchanted with the world that I haven't had time to process it verbally. But soon I will appease the Internet with a fresh entry. In the mean time, have you seen that new movie Babies !?! It is ADORABLE and ETHNOGRAPHICALLY STIMULATING!

Inappropriate:

Sometimes thoughts come into my head that are both so novel and entertaining to me that I can't repress them until a more appropriate moment, nor am I able to control the volume at which I express them. If I were 7 years old you might think I have Tourrette's syndrome, but really I just don't have enough shame to control myself. Last night, boyfriend and I pulled up to a restaurant, parking adjacent to a large white van with jungle cat markings and the words "KIM'S WHITE TIGER" scrawled on the side in a pseudo-samurai style font. Unable to connect the van to its type of business (tae kwon do, apparently), I said loudly,

"When I'm really old, I'm going to refer to my snatch as the White Tiger, and it's going to attack hot young men."

Boyfriend's expression was worth it, but judging by the way people sitting outside the restaurant stared at me as we walked by, I was probably disarmingly vocal about the sentiment.

I almost wrote, just now, that this whole situation was fine because none of my peers or superiors were there to witness it. However, it occurs to me now that my boss has caught me doing things just as bizarre at work, like headbanging at my desk, dancing through other peoples' lab space, doing loud imitations of other people, and proclaiming my preference for drinking hard liquor straight from the bottle. But, I mean, he's a cool guy. I can only hope he doesn't include these traits on a recommendation letter in the future.

Random thought

All etymology aside, isn't it interesting how close the word contemporaries looks to contempt? And also, how the word "peers," when uttered in a particular sentiment, might sound like the word "pierce," as with a dagger? Not that this has anything to do with anything.

Just a thought

I have the notion that anything, anything, anything, no matter how innocent, can be creepy if you type it into Microsoft Notepad.

Quickies

1. Buses

Lately I've been in a dangerously bad mood in the mornings and it's been all I can do not to explode with rage every time I'm on the bus. Some guy will inevitably weasel his way into a seat that opens up right next to me every morning, forcing me to stand while 10 people squeeze past where I'm standing in the middle of the aisle. I have a new theory that the murderous ideations of serial killers are born on public transportation, and I dare you to defy me. Also, please don't give me dirty looks while we're across from each other on the bus. It's not my fault that you chose to put on that much eyeliner, lady.

2. Baby's First Car

Last weekend, I purchased my first car. Car shopping is a lot like clothes shopping except... the salespeople are usually fast-talking men, I fit into everything I looked at, and when I went home at the end of the day, I didn't hate my body. Now I'm broke so I won't go clothes shopping for awhile, which makes me sad... but I like my car. I'm trying to think of it as an accessory... like a really expensive, rapidly depreciating scarf.

3. Emotionally Unstable

In my life, a few men have referred to me as "emotionally unstable." This would bother me if I hadn't pieced together a few coincidental facts about these men:

1. They considered themselves to be very good looking and intelligent.
2. They were interested in me romantically.
3. I was not interested in them romantically.

Just throwing this out there, but maybe what's "emotionally unstable" about me is my unshakable opinion that they are undesirable mates. Also, who seems more emotionally unstable: me, or a guy who cries every day? That's what I thought.

4. Science

Science is like the big brother who sometimes lets you have the larger slice of pie for dessert, but then the next day he calls you fat and rubs your face in his dirty underwear. What a fickle, fickle world I work in.

Hiccups

I am a weird girl and I have weird hiccups.

When my mother was pregnant with me, people could tell that I was hiccuping because her stomach would bounce visibly. My hiccups were so strong they actually caused my mother pain.

My hiccups have always been out of control. My diaphragm contracts so violently that my entire body shakes. They yank on internal organs, tug my abdominal muscles painfully, and keep me from breathing properly, making me lightheaded.

I don't know what triggers them, but this morning I woke up with the hiccups (actually, the hiccups woke ME up) and I've had them 3 times since. The present bout has been so strong that I had to vomit (twice).

Go away hiccups!

Addendum

I was thinking about my previous post's pleas to Shonda Rimes & Friends. Yes, I would still like some sort of massacre to occur at Seattle Grace. Yes, I would like it to happen as soon as possible. Yes, I would like every major and supporting character to perish without any dramatic dialogue or mourning involved. But in addition to this, NO ONE CAN COME BACK AS GHOSTS. Especially ghosts that have sex and warn people about cancer. Especially ghosts with spin-offs, or ghosts that appear on Private Practice. Also, I would like the president of ABC to formally apologize to America and all countries where Grey's Anatomy is syndicated for this poor excuse for entertainment.

Thanks!
Love, Elyse

Can vodka cure headaches?

When I was a senior in high school, my gigantic wisdom teeth pressed on a nerve in my jaw and gave me a headache for almost the entire year, nonstop. Or maybe the kids I went to school with were just so annoying, blonde, and orange that I was in psychic pain all the time... I don't know. If you went to my high school you'd understand that both options are equally likely. I had my wisdom teeth removed and graduated high school in the same week, and the headaches went away. Hooray!

But I get headaches now that are almost as bad as that one. Let me tell you this week's tale of woe: On Tuesday before I went to a concert, I started getting a headache. I kept it at bay by taking 3 Advil with a Guinness. That is probably not so great for my liver, but what's done is done. The next day it was back! So I left work early and took a nap. Then it was back again! And I haven't been able to shake it since.

Here is something you shouldn't do when you have a headache: Go on internet medical advice websites. All I can think about now is how I may have a subarachnoid bleed. Every ten minutes I'm running to the mirror to see if there's blood leaking from my ear. But if my meninges were hemmoraging for 5 days, wouldn't I be craving meat? Probably, since I'm already (according to the blood drives that reject me) "dangerously anemic." It's okay: If I sit really still and try not to breathe much and don't think about anything or open my eyes, I barely feel any pain. It's like being dead.

Random aside: I was at the gym this morning laughing to myself about a cat food commercial. I think it's weird that they advertise salmon, lobster, and sea bass as a "natural" diet for cats. When was the last time you saw a cat deep-sea fishing or cracking open a lobster tail? Hell, cats don't even have the opposable digits to properly handle a seafood fork. You might as well give them pureed polar bear liver, because they're just as likely to eat that in the wild.

I have a dream...

What if all the Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvds in the United States were connected to form a single coherent boulevard? Then we could take a luxuriously slow road trip around the United States, passing from city to city in a nonsensical labyrinthine path. This would benefit people who sometimes wake up in strange cities and find themselves confused by their orientation to home relative to the identically-titled but fundamentally unequal MLKJBs. I'm just sayin'-- it would save some people a lot of time that would otherwise be spent meandering around, burning fossil fuels, and trying not to cry in front of the gas station attendant.

Some people would also really benefit from intuitively renaming all roads according to her place of residence: "Direction of Ice Cream Store Street." "Intersects with Gym Road." "Pathway between Work and Home Skyway." "Full of Speed Traps Go Slowly Way."

Also, what if we outlawed parallel parking? I think it's discriminatory to people who never took the driving exam because they passed driver's ed with an extremely high grade. Some people can't help it if they are too smart for the system.

A roundabout excuse for not posting more often.

I love multidisciplinary studies. Specialization limits the accessibility of whatever topic you study-- sure, you might be an expert in the environmental theory of praying mantis egg-hatching dynamics, but if you can't communicate what you know to someone who studies the neurobiochemical interactions of crawfish mating rituals, what good does it do? We do need experts, though... it's just that, we need a few experts, and we need them to mentor people in a broader context than their own expertise. Multiple mentors-- that's the idea behind a thesis committee, I think.

I am writing about this today, not to change the face of science (I'll save that for another day, a greater blog), but to express my frustration with grad school lately. I work in a fantastic interdisciplinary lab that combines chemistry and neurobiology, and yet I find myself constantly tripping on the crack between the two. Imagine you have a study where you use a chemical technique to study a neurobiological phenomenon. Now you have a problem: write for a chemistry journal, and the chemists think you're doing chemistry wrong. Write for a biology journal, and the neurobiologists think you're doing neurobiology wrong. You're wrong from every angle, even if you're right. (My lab is really well established, luckily for us, but the problem still arises, especially when you're trying to do something new. Cough, cough.)

Now back to that age-old (beginning of this blog-old) notion that as a woman, I feel that I experience extra frustration. Most of the men I know are happy to step back and say "Yes, I'm a chemist-- who cares about the neurobiology?" or "The neurobiology is solid, so I am going to let it speak for itself." I feel this is easier for someone with a Y chromosome because society expects them to be great at one thing-- and everything else be damned. Women are supposed to be multi-talented: can you cook? do you keep a clean house? does your hair have bounce and shine? can you wiggle your hips attractively when Lady Gaga comes on at a club? please theorize about the themes in the Bronte sisters' literature as compared to Jane Austen's. how does NMDA antagonism in the hippocampus impact task-acquisition in various behavioral paradigms? etc. Maybe that's not true-- maybe that's just some neurotic pressure I feel because I can barely cook, clean, control my hair, and wiggle seductively, and I haven't read early 19th century women's lit since high school.

But my obvious neuroticism aside... my point is, taking a multidisciplinary approach to science is, in my opinion, the best approach-- and the most open for criticism. And unlike a lot of people, I don't let criticism roll off my back. I take it as a challenge to get better. Guess what? Being a first year grad student presents a lot of challenges (mostly because I don't know anything), and I'm EXHAUSTED. And that, my dear reader(s?), is why my posting has been lackluster lately. I'm just too tired to store up my vitriol. It leaks out of me all day like a car with a bad transmission. And your diaphragm (again, not the contraceptive) is the one that suffers. I apologize to diaphragms everywhere.

The daily disrespect for Sarah Palin

elyse (12:42:57 AM): yeah why do families gotta kiss?

chris (12:43:05 AM): I don't know

chris (12:43:07 AM): It weirds me out kind of

elyse (12:43:09 AM): that's weird

chris (12:43:12 AM): Especially my grandma

elyse (12:43:43 AM): the weirdest is when you have to hug or kiss family members who aren't actually related to you

elyse (12:43:50 AM): like an uncle or aunt who is married in

chris (12:44:24 AM): Yeah

elyse (12:44:41 AM): in the palin family they call that matchmaking

(Hopefully) The only post I will ever write about Facebook

I almost never add people as my friend on Facebook. I wait for them to add me. Playing hard-to-get over the internet is a challenging and rewarding game. I get this cheap, dirty thrill from the rejections and selections that happen over Facebook.

When I add people, I almost always regret it. Sometimes I add guys I've dated and never see them again (only their updates, like irritating ghosts of the relationship I aborted). Sometimes I add the new girlfriends of exboyfriends (to freak them out). Sometimes I add the boyfriends of girls who don't like me (to piss them off). None of these things are very productive! I should have a hypnotist give me an aversion to the words "Add friend."

I love the creepout feeling I get when someone adds me. What makes someone who never talked to you in high school decide one random afternoon that they would like to cybernetwork with you? When I was at home last month, I went to a bar and saw a lot of these cyberalumni-- all of whom had mysteriously requested my friendship years ago and said nothing to me since. And then what do you say? "Long time, no see... your facebook status tells me you split up with your boyfriend, how sad!" "Remember that time in high school when... umm... we didn't hang out, did we? Remember that picture you uploaded last month? HILARIOUS." "No no, you didn't get fat!" Awkwardtown.

The best of all Facebook feelings is when you get to reject someone. I rejected someone once because I didn't recognise him. I thought he was going to creep my photos and write scary "compliments" on my wall. I realized later that I'd had a science class with him in high school, and he'd just altered his name as a joke. He friended me again a month later with his name changed back to the real one. But he didn't send me a note or anything to clear up confusion, and I'd never even had a conversation with him... so I rejected him again. All in all, he requested my friendship over 10 times, never once trying to decreepify the situation. Toward the end there, I got so much joy rejecting him that I think I descended to yet a lower level of hell. Sorry, dude. Don't be so creepy.

The worst is when you are unfriended, or when you have to unfriend someone. The actual unfriending process is quite satisfying, but the decision to completely cut someone out is sort of difficult. Actually, last year I was living with this disgusting guy and wanted to unfriend him for months before my social situation permitted me to click that glorious button. My most recent ex boyfriend unfriended me because he "didn't want to see my updates, they make me feel horrible." Well, the dumb bastard should feel horrible, but I totally understand. I've unfriended my exes before because I don't want to see when they are in a new relationship. I also unfriended everybody I was obligated to be friends with during college, but whose life I didn't really care about. It's annoying to see pictures of parties you know were boring and trite on your newsfeed, am I right?

In summary, I'm a bitch on Facebook. It's good practice for real life.

Post of Boredom-- yours and mine

Oh my Darwin, a week with no posts? This can only mean that I have better things to do than sit around and fester in my own cynicism. I'm truly sorry.

Last night, some dude was flirting with me at a bar. He was a nice, respectful, normal guy who was paying complete attention to me, so of course I wasn't interested at all. I don't know why, exactly ... but I really feel guilty for not being attracted to him. Poor guy-- how could he know I only date jerks? Sometimes I feel like I'm living in an Elvis Costello song.

I recently looked through some family photos that my grandmother had been keeping. It is never nice to be reminded of what you looked like in middle school, but it did provide closure to my speculations about why people made fun of me. Hair, braces, glasses... you might as well cover me in Post-Its that say "Kick Me!" And my nose has completely changed shape since then-- My nose is pretty cute now, let's be honest. How is that possible!? Maybe all those celebrities aren't lying about nosejobs after all.

Countdown until the end of June: 3 days. YAY.

Planning ahead

In about 23 years, when I have a midlife crisis, I'm going to have a really funky experimental punk garage band. My kids are going to be incredibly embarrassed. My third or fourth husband will leave me. I'll lose my job and have to move into a grungy basement apartment, but I'll be happy mixing the sounds I collect from the pigeons cooing for scraps in the park with the roar of airplanes taking off and the cool rhythm of coins falling into a vending machine.

I'm going to call my band Elyse and the Landlords. I'll send you my demo.

Cultural values

When I visited home last week, I went to the grocery store with my mom. She held up a box of organic cereal and said, "This is so expensive. It's like two bottles of wine." She then revealed to me that she converts the price of luxuries in wine bottles to determine if they are worth the expense.

I was surprised because I do the same thing with yogurt. In line to purchase my lunch, I think to myself, "I could buy six yogurts for the price of this hummus wrap." When I order a coffee, I think, "This is π/3 yogurts." In fact, I have become so adept that I can convert money to various yogurt brands as if they were foreign currencies. The exchange rate varies week-to-week because of grocery store sales.

In the future, when our government unravels into matriarchal tribes, mine will be a gluten-free yogurt economy with a rock'n'roll religion backbone.

GRE cuisine

I think when I have kids, I'm going to rename the foods I make for them for my own amusement. For example, I think it would be interesting to call lasagna "chicanery" and satiate my children with the dish before sending them to play at a friend's. Their friend's mother might ask them if they are hungry, and do they want a snack? To which my wonderful children might reply, "No thanks, we're full of chicanery."

Then all the other mommies in the kindergarten class will hang out at the PTA meetings (I won't be there because I don't support meaningless pseudo-government) and say, "Mrs. Twisby is one eccentric lady! But her unwashed, barefoot, hippie-named kids are way cuter than mine!"

Question:

When people like Tori Spelling write books, why do people buy them? Maybe it's misguided for me to think of Tori Spelling as a boring, unattractive 90's version of Paris Hilton because there are obviously people buying her books. So what's so interesting about her? I would actually be more interested in Paris's autobiography than Tori's, and I'm saying this with the expectation that Paris would just make a list of what's hot and defend her misuse of underwear for 90 pages before devolving into doodles of shoes and pink hearts.

Tori has written two books. I'm willing to put money on the fact that neither one of them explains why all that plastic surgery can't make her face less manly.

Things I would miss if I lived in the 1940s

• My iPod
• the Beatles
• ethnic food, especially middle eastern and thai
• Johnny Depp movies, and vibrators
  
• wimmen's lib
  
• the end of the Cold War
• microwaves
  
• Google, and vibrators
• polymerase chain reaction
• not being called a spinster
  
• PubMed and Web of Science
• laparoscopic surgery
• the HPV vaccine (I got dose #2 yesterday. I'm so responsible.)
• Long lasting batteries, and vibrators
  
• cell phones and digital cameras
• word processing
  
• President Barack Obama (and vibrators)
  

Giggle-O-The-Day

I have been watching this video over and over all evening and it hasn't gotten less funny:

Unseen footage of the Australian lyrebird

If this doesn't make you laugh, you must have a diaphragm* of STONE!

*the organ that enables laughter, not the convenient contraceptive device. Don't put rocks in your pants, gals.